I’ve been struggling lately with my poor old broken heart. Lots of tears, regrets, missing Mr. F—you know how it goes. The pessimist in me keeps beating me down, telling me I’ve missed my last chance for love, that it’ll never be that good again EVER, and it’s all my fault that the relationship came to an end.
The optimist in me knows it’s all a load of crap.
You’ve heard the story of the optimist and the pessimist, right? It goes something like this:
Researchers were studying traits of optimism and pessimism in children. Two ten-year old boys were brought in as study participants.
The first one, a pessimist, was put in a room full of all the latest popular toys and left there on his own for an hour. After the hour had passed, the researcher assigned to him opened the door and found the boy sitting on the floor crying, the toys untouched.
“Why are you crying?” the researcher asked. “Why didn’t you play with the toys?”
The boy looked at him and wailed, “I was afraid to! I just knew I’d break them and then I’d be in big trouble!”
Meanwhile, the other boy, an optimist, was also placed alone in a room, this one filled with manure. At the end of an hour, the researcher opened the door to find the boy slinging poop and grinning from ear to ear.
Somewhat startled by this, the researcher asked, “Why are you so happy?”
The boy stopped for a moment and replied, “Are you kidding? With all this crap in here, there’s got to be a pony somewhere!”
The moral of the story? If you want the pony, you’re gonna have to go through some crap first.